


Trust Me

by Dystopian_Dramaqueen



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canada, Escape, Escape from gilead, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopian_Dramaqueen/pseuds/Dystopian_Dramaqueen
Summary: Nick told her to trust him and go with the Eyes.She wakes up in prison.





	Trust Me

**I:**

****

I wake up on a cold cement floor. Its dark. Smells like piss and mold. My whole body hurts. Where the fuck am I?

****

The last thing I remember was leaving Waterford’s in the black van. Nick told me to go with the Eyes. To trust him.

****

I peel my cheek away from the concrete. I see jail bars.

****

Fuck. How long have I been here?  

****

Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Black boots stop outside my cell. Flashlight in my face. Blinding.

****

“Get up. Your turn.”

****

Keys unlocking my cell.

****

My stomach turns. My turn for what? Is this the interrogation center? This is not good.

****

I know it’s stupid but I need some clue. I ask as meekly as possible….“Where are we?”

****

“Wrong answer.”

****

The familiar jolt from a cattle prod runs through me.  

****

I get to my feet as fast as I can.

****

“That's better. Now follow me.”

****

We walk down a long dark hallway. We must be underground. We walk for 15 minutes. This place is big. Horrible screams echo from around the corners. Alternating with emotionless questions.

****

My jailor stops abruptly, unlocks a thick metal door and shoves me inside.

****

“Tell the truth” he says. “Quicker that way. Don’t think you’re special. We’ll get the answers either way. Save yourself some time.”

****

Right. Time. Like that’s what I’m worried about.

****

I hear the door lock behind me. No cameras that I can see. No windows. Total darkness. Like a cave. Except for a spotlight in the center of the room. Silhouetting a male figure behind a desk. Cigarette smoke rises slowly from his relaxed hand. Tape recorder to his left. He gestures at the empty chair facing the desk. I look around. Not a lot of options. Certainly worse if I resist this early. I walk to the chair and sit down.

****

The first words are spoken in an unexpectedly gentle tone. Is this some technique they use to get your guard down?

****

“I’m going to need you to trust me, June. Can you do that?”

****

**Trust me.** My real name. That voice. Oh my god is this Nick?

****

I look up at the shadow. He nods.  

****

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. He’s in the secret police. He knows every rule I’ve broken. He knows all of my weaknesses and fears. Who better to interrogate me.  

****

He must have reported my crimes to the eyes. And now here I am. I deserve everything that is coming to me. What the fuck was I thinking. Trusting anyone, much less him. My heart sinks.

****

Nick puts his hand on mine. The energy gentle. Steady. I don’t understand.

****

He pulls back. Takes a long draw on his cigarette. Starts the tape recorder.

****

“June 18th, 2025. Case of Handmaid 305, most recently assigned to the Waterford Residence.” He pauses and looks at me. He wants me to listen. “Handmaid. Do you know why you are here?”

****

I freeze. What is the right answer? A barely perceptible shake of his head. “No” I say. He nods.

****

“Did you know that it is a punishable offense for commanders to copulate with handmaids outside of the ceremony?” I look again for guidance. The shadow nods yes. “Yes.” I stammer.

****

“We have reason to believe that Commander Fred Waterford has a pattern of sleeping with his handmaids outside of the ceremony. We believe that is why his previous handmaid took her own life. She couldn’t live with her guilt. We have brought you here hoping you would cooperate with our investigation. If Commander Waterford ever acted inappropriately toward you, ever touched you in a lustful fashion, or coerced you to act inappropriately, this is the time to confess that. We will hold him accountable, not you.”

****

I stare at him blankly. There is no way this ends well. What the fuck is he doing? Why should I trust him now if I am here? Is this the only way out? I have no choice. Absolutely no choice.

****

“He used to take me to his office and touch me. He smuggled me to a secret club and raped me there several times.” The shadow nods. Another long drag on his cigarette. “That is consistent with the intelligence we received from other members of his household. His wife, driver and martha all corroborate that story. Thank you for being honest.”

****

He pauses. Weighing some additional question.

****

“That must have been horrible for you. Being raped and abused. Being forced to break the rules.”

****

“Yes Sir, it was.”

****

We both nod.

****

He pauses. Re-centering. “While you were unconscious we performed an ultrasound. I am sorry to inform you that you have lost the pregnancy. It will be stillborn. You are NOT pregnant any longer.”

****

My body stiffens. My hands instinctively go to my swollen belly. I feel a small flutter, a small kick. We both know that isn’t true. A barely perceptible head shake from the silhouette. He is lying. For the recording. But why?

****

“When handmaids have cycled through three houses, over 3 years, without a viable pregnancy- we believe their fertility has ended. We remove them from the duties of handmaid, and transport them to the colonies to assist with cleanup activities.”

****

Clean up activities. Oh, you mean certain death. Slow and toxic. Sounds almost merciful the way he says it.

****

“Do you accept your new assignment?”

****

“Yes” I say.

****

He nods in earnest. Visibly relieved.

****

“Thank you for your compliance.”

****

He turns his attention to the tape recorder. “This marks successful completion of inquest 107895, the case of Handmaid 305 and Commander Waterford’s treason. Phase two interrogation not indicated. There is no group transportation available tomorrow so I will deliver her to the colonies myself, departing at zero four hundred hours on June 19th. This is Guardian Blaine signing off.” He stops the recorder.

****

A bright fluorescent light flips on overhead. The room behind the desk is now illuminated. Something straight out of a horror movie. Back when horror was something we watched for entertainment. What the hell was wrong with us.

****

In the center of the room stands an old electrocution chair. Complete with thick leather straps strong enough to immobilize large violent men. Someone like me wouldn’t stand a chance.

****

Tables covered with rusty tools and surgical equipment. What was that movie, Hostel? It looks like that. A drain beneath the chair. It must be bloody work.

****

Do all Eyes interrogate prisoners? Is this what Nick does on weekends? Or did he somehow convince them to let him handle my case himself? So much I don’t understand. Do they know our connection? Did he exchange some favor for this? Would it have gone differently without his cues? A chill runs through me. My god it would have. I would have denied everything. And they knew the truth.

****

I hear keys in the door. My jailor is back.

****

“That didn’t take long.”

****

“Nope. She’s scared. Like she should be. She didn’t try to be brave.”

****

“Good. I hate that shit.”

****

“Me too.”

****

He stamps his cigarette out. Looks up at me, his face illuminated. Holding my gaze. I see no emotion. Just darkness. But his words echo. **Trust me.**

****

**II:**

****

I don’t know what time it is. But I know 4am is coming. I wait. My mind running every possibility.  I haven’t been hurt yet. There must be hope. Nick is here. I think he is trying to help me. My best protection now is silence. I wait for what feels like days.

****

Boots in the hallway. Flashlight in my face. Every nerve searching for my next cue. “Get up”. It is the jailor’s gruff voice. I leap up quickly.  Almost a relief. I know what he wants. Just silence and compliance. No games or secrets yet. We walk for 30 minutes.

****

Now the screams make sense. This is what I would have sounded like. I try to stop thinking, block out the images. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. I pray silently for these poor souls. They are too lost to pray for themselves. Please let them confess, or let them die. Please. Let it end. This becomes my mantra with each step. Please let them die. Please let it end. Please let them die. Please let it end. But the screams only grow louder.

****

We reach the end of the hallway. Keys unlock the heavy metal door and we climb the stairs. Something like 20 flights. One bare lightbulb per landing. No way to accurately gauge how big this place is. We arrive at the top landing and he unlocks a door to the outside.

****

We step out into a forest. It’s night time. The air is fresh and cold. I look around- the door we exited looks like an outhouse. There is no way to find this place from the outside.

****

A black van is waiting. Clouds of exhaust rise silently from the tailpipe. My jailor opens the back door of the van. I step in and he locks it behind me. The bare metal benches are familiar.  No comfort for prisoners. He walks around to the driver. I hear signatures and a handshake.

****

We ride in silence for 3 hours. Then the van slows, pulls off the main road and comes to a stop. I hear the gas tank open, gas being pumped. Boots on gravel. Keys in the back door. Blinding light of day. Nick. He holds his finger to his lips. I nod. He points at the speakers and cameras in the corners of the van, above the back door. Aimed toward me. How had I not seen those? We are being monitored. He holds up a GPS tracker. They know right where we are. I nod.

****

Then the gruff emotionless voice. The act. “Pit stop. Get out.” I comply. We are at some old ruined gas station. No longer maintained, but still functional. No one else is here. He opens the door. Main room filled with empty shelves that used to hold candy and magazines. He points at the women’s bathroom. He heads for the men’s on the opposite side. When was the last time I peed? Or ate? I relieve myself. I wash my face and drink a little water.

****

Back in the main room, we cross to each other and embrace. “I’m so sorry” he whispers in my ear. “It was the only way to get you out.” “Its ok.” I whisper back. “Thank you.” We hold each other a second longer, then pull back. No time for softness now. We are far from safe.

****

We return to the van. He locks me in the back again. I hear him on his radio. “This is Guardian Blaine. Transporting a prisoner to the colonies. I’ve got a flat tire.”

****

Pause.

****

“I know. They must not have checked the tire pressure when they returned it. Seems to be more of a slow leak”

****

Pause.

****

“Do you have any colony supply trucks scheduled to come this way today?”

****

Pause.

****

“Great, can you have them bring me a spare tire? I’m at the gas station on 120 West. No rush. Thanks. Roger that.”

****

Nick opens the back compartment of the van. Covers each camera with his black glove and removes them from the wall, dropping them into an empty laundry bag, along with the GPS tracker. He tucks the bag into his trenchcoat. Relocks the van door.

****

We sit for another three hours before I hear the supply truck pull in. Easy conversation as they jack the truck up and change the tire. I hear goodbyes exchanged. The other van returns to the highway. 15 minutes pass. He gets on the radio again.

****

“Guardian Blaine again. Thanks for the assist. Yup. We got it changed. Real nice guy. Thanks for that.”

****

Pause

****

“Yes, should reach the colonies on schedule, about the same time as the laundry truck. We’re just a few minutes behind them. Under his eye.”

****

The van pulls onto the highway, but back the way we came. Then a sharp 90 degree turn. If the sun was in my face in the morning, that was East. We are going North.

****

**III:**

****

I wake up to the door opening.

****

“June. Come on. We’re here.”

****

I step out. Twilight. No one in sight. We are surrounded by stacks of old crushed cars. Everything rusted out. Nick has gloves on. He douses a rag with alcohol. Scrubs the door handles, bench, anything we might have touched.  ****  
** **

 

“This is the junkyard where we ditch the van. Mayday crushes any new drop offs every morning, no questions asked. The less they know the better. Our GPS tracker is in the back of that laundry truck headed for the colonies. As far as Gilead knows we are too. It’s a 4 day drive to the colonies, which buys us some time before they know we are missing.”  ****  
** **

 

“Different agent every day does the disposals. Never the same person twice. They can’t force you to confess what you don’t know.”

****

A chill runs up my spine as I think of the interrogation center. I block it out. Keep your shit together.

****

He hands me grey clothes. Econo Wife's dress, shoes, hat. Also a pair of gloves to prevent new fingerprints. I change quickly and throw my red dress into the van.

****

“ I called ahead. They left us an unmarked car. Untraceable.They said there would be documents in the glovebox. They had time to get one male, one female.”

****

A flicker of hope rises in my heart. I quickly suppress it. But this might work.

****

It’s a 1980s Lincoln Navigator. We climb in. Comfy seats.

****

I open the glovebox and find two faded ID badges. Same last name. Male with dark hair, female with long blonde hair. Could be us if you don’t look too close. My stomach sinks when I feel the chips and scratches. These ID’s are real. These belonged to a real couple that didn’t make it.

****

We drive for a few hours. I nod off. I wake up as the car slows down. Flashlights and dogs. Checkpoint. I pull my grey cap down over my face and pretend to sleep. Questions. ID’s checked.

****

“Enjoy your time guardian. Econowife?”

****

“Yup. Honeymoon.”

****

“Well enjoy. If you know what I mean. Blessed be the fruit!”

****

“May the lord open.”

****

They chuckle. We drive off. Men are gross. Some things never change.

****

“June. Wake up. We’re here.”

****

I rub my eyes. Long lines of tired looking people wrapped around cement buildings. Reminds me of the DMV.

****

“Where are we?”

****

“Canada.”

****

They put us in separate lines for processing and decontamination.

****

Lots of questions about my past. My former name, former family members, all entered into a dusty laptop. They give me a duffle bag with basic toiletries and a change of clothes. Show me to my bunk. Women’s dorm. Long hot shower. So good.

****

I wander out to the dining hall. No Nick. I grab some food and sit down. I bet his debriefing took longer since he used to be in the Gilead secret police. He has more information than I did. I hope he tells them everything. Fuck those monsters. I eat slowly. Waiting. Still no sign of him.

****

I head to the men’s dorm. I find him taking a shower. I lock the door and join him.

****

After that we don’t allow separation. We walk together. Eat together. When we sit- hands or feet are always touching. We will never be apart again. Not after what we’ve been through. We even bunk together. No one seems to care. That first night, as I start to process what I have been through, sleep seems impossible. My body wound tight, mind racing, still in survival mode. But with his warm arms around me, his rhythmic breathing, I do feel safe. And I manage to drift off.

****

When I wake up he’s watching me. He smiles. How long was I asleep? The dorm is empty. All the other residents are gone. It must be 10am. He has such a beautiful smile. He should smile more. I’ll work on that. A life where we smile a lot. He touches my belly. “We really did test you. You’re still pregnant, but I destroyed that result.” He leans in and kisses me.

****

Later that day I get summoned to a social worker’s office. They don’t say why. When we arrive, the worker gestures for Nick to stay outside.

****

“Just you, ma’am.”

****

I reach back and grab Nick’s hand.

****

“He comes with me.”

****

The social worker shrugs. She has no time for my shit.

****

We sit waiting in the dusty conference room. Legs touching. Holding hands. In another life this could have been normal. He could be my boyfriend. This could be the dean’s office at college. Or we could be interviewing for a job. Or buying a house together. Such nice thoughts. I look over at him and smile.

****

The door creaks open.

****

I turn to see Luke in the doorway. Searching my face. Recognizing me, but not understanding my proximity, my body language toward this stranger.

****

I run to Luke and hug him. Nick stands up warily. Luke touches my pregnant belly, looks me in the eyes, looks back at Nick, hackles rising on his neck.

****

“Did this guy…HURT you? Is this one of the commanders?”

****

Nick steps away from the table. No aggression, but prepared to defend himself.

****

“Luke, look at me. I am ok. This is my friend. He helped me. He got me out. He’s on our side.”

****

Luke continues to hold Nick in his gaze.

****

Nick looks down and walks past us. Leaving the room so we can talk in private.

****

Luke’s muscles relax. His breathing slows down. He turns to look at me.

****

He had waited for me. I hadn’t waited for him. I know in that moment that we can never go back to what we had before. He is devastated. He feels betrayed. This is what heartbreak looks like.

**Author's Note:**

> Written after season 1 ends, but could apply at any point in the story I suppose.


End file.
